Once More, For the Last Time
by Liam Evans III
Summary: Eragon ends up trapped on an island with no way out. Arya and Co. find themselves in a fight against something that seems to know their every move. This is the final chapter in their history, this is their last battle. Warning: in later chapters there will be gore, blood, intense emotional moments, possible sex, and character death. Like it says, this is the final battle. R
1. Chapter 1

Once More, For the Last Time

Summary:  
Everything seems to be going great in the new land. Eragon and Saphira are peaceful, well, as peaceful as one can be when they are separated from the one's they love by an ocean. So, of course, Eragon decides to tempt fate and return back Alagaësia. And, of course, something goes wrong and Eragon and Saphira, along with insane, flesh-eating … _things_ … are trapped on an island that seemed to appear from nowhere. And, just to add insult to injury, magic doesn't work. Oh yeah, did I mention that the island seems to be alive? Anyway, with no way off and no way to contact the outside world, Eragon and Saphira's sanity, souls, and, most importantly, their lives are now at risk.  
But back in Alagaësia, things that have been kept secret for an age are now coming to light. It is the duty of Arya, Nasuada, Fírnen, Roran, Orik, and Thorn to protect their home at all costs. It is the final chapter in their story, the final part they play in the grand plan. And they will need all the help they can get if they want to save their world. Again.

Prologue: Thoughts and an Untimely Meeting

It was interesting, thought a certain elf-human hybrid.  
By that he meant life and the fact that it seemed to hate on him at every possible moment. To begin with, he was given Saphira's egg, which led to her hatching, his uncle's death, and the uprooting of his entire life. Then he was given an impossible task of taking down Galbatorix. And, after several battles, he found that there was another Dragon Rider in the world. And then he died, leaving Eragon to fight the war alone. And then he finds out that there is a stash of dragon eggs and Eldunarí hidden away, leaving feeling not so alone. And then, he accomplishes the impossible and destroys Galbatorix. Well, actually, Galbatorix destroyed himself, but no one would take that thought seriously. And finally, when all seemed peaceful at last, he realized that he would have to leave his homeland and go off into the unknown, leaving the love of his life for good.  
Worse things have happened, but what they were, he had no idea.  
A sudden gust of wind, followed closely by the shaking of the ground, as his dragon, the ever intimidating Saphira, landed behind him.  
_Thinking of home again, little one?_  
Eragon sighed and opened his eyes, replying, _Not just home.  
_Saphira sent a mental smile and said, _Arya, I assume.  
_ He nodded and got up from where he had been sitting, cross-legged, eyes closed, in a meditative trance. _I miss her. And Fírnen. And Roran. And Nasuada and Katrina and Orik, even Murtagh and Thorn. I hope they are well and safe.  
Do not worry about them, little one. They can take care of themselves._ While her tone was even and sure, there was an underlying touch of worry and sorrow. So, Saphira wasn't the only one who was feeling homesick.  
Eragon smiled wearily.  
It had been a long ten years.

Arya felt like she was flying.  
Well, technically she was, as she was currently plummeting several thousand feet through the air and speeding quickly to the very hard and unforgiving ground. But still, falling to one's death has a certain effect on one's personality.  
And as if to take the fun away, her world was wrenched around and spun upside down, as the great green dragon, Fírnen caught her in his talons. She frowned and mentally said, _I could have fallen a little longer.  
_ The green dragon's chest vibrated and slight rumbling sound permeated the air. _Just because you are the queen of the elves does not mean that you can fall to your death. You may be the enforcer of your people's laws, but under mine, you do not die._  
While his tone was humorous, Arya could detect a shadow of seriousness.  
_Well then, O Great King of the Winds…  
Hmmm, I like the sound of that_, interrupted Fírnen.  
Arya sent a wave of irritation at him and continued, _O Great King of the Winds, I shall never forgive myself if I was to fall to my death under your watch. Whatever would you do without me?  
Mourn, cry, and probably try to kill anyone who disturbs me.  
Fair enough. Is there any reason you had to stop my fun?  
A man. He has, ah, requested to see you in person.  
And what is different about this man?  
He took out your entire guard, and invaded my mind without so much as a … well, I don't know, but if I were you I would talk to him.  
_To say in the least, Arya was shocked. The elves that guarded her were some of the best warriors in her kingdom. For one man to be able to take them out as easily as Fírnen described was … unnerving wasn't even coming close.  
Slowly, she put on her queen face and told Fírnen in a no-nonsense tone, _Set me down. I will deal with this _man.  
Fírnen knew the raven-haired elf well enough to do what she asked and to do it quickly when she was like this. He flew low and hovered over the clearing in front of her tree house. She dropped out of his talons and landed lightly, on both feet.  
Fírnen snorted once, releasing a jet of green flame and said, _Be careful, _and flew off to his landing clearing.  
Once he was gone, Arya reached for her sword and drew it from its sheath. She moved forwards toward the house and looked through the opened windows. Seeing nothing, but the unmoving forms of her guards, she entered, slowly and quietly, her booted feet making no sound.  
"You know, it is really very rude to attack someone without hearing them out," a voice said from behind her.  
Arya whirled, her blade flashing through the air. And cut through nothing but air.  
"Really, I got into the elf city of Ellesméra undetected, took out your entire guard, and broke through your dragon's mind. Do you really think that you can take me alone?" the man said.  
Before she could whirl around to face and attack him, she felt the cold metal of a blade resting on her throat.  
"If you move so much as an inch, this blade will cut through your skin and imbed itself into spine. So take my advice: sit down, listen, and dropped the sword."  
Arya complied, and the man moved in front of her, still holding the blade to her throat.  
Arya's heart suddenly moved to her throat.  
"Hello, beautiful. It's been a while."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Messages

3 MONTHS LATER

Arya's sword flashed and neatly cut through the warrior in front of her. He screamed as blood began to run out of the wound and down to the ground. Overhead, she heard Fírnen roaring and colliding heavily with the … she didn't even know what it was. All that Arya knew was the Fírnen was winning the battle between the two.  
"I still can't believe that Thirday managed to convince me into doing this?" Roran's voice said behind her.  
"I can't believe that I am actually fighting myths," was Arya's retort.  
Even though she couldn't see Roran's face, she knew he was grinning.  
"Fair enough."  
Any other talk between the two was cut short as the ground started to shake.  
"Arya, Roran! Get down!" Thirday's voice sounded from across the battlefield.  
Thirday had managed to save their lives more than once before today, so they ducked. And they were lucky to. Over their heads a boulder flew and following it was blast of heat that Arya and Roran knew only to come from a dragon.  
The warrior's suddenly stopped and fell, their eyes exploding out from their sockets.  
After the last of the warriors fell, Roran got up, saying, "Now that is not very pleasant." He kicked one of the warriors to make sure it was dead.  
"What happened?" Arya asked.  
"I don't know," Nasuada responded.  
"And neither do I," said Orik and Nar Garzhvog together.  
"Killing the big thing should have only kill the big thing, not everything else," Thirday said, sheathing his sword. Its blade was clear of any blood or any dents in the metal.  
Arya looked out across the field in which they held off the enemy.  
"I've never seen anything like this," Orik said, kicking another of the warriors, causing it to jerk and spill more blood onto the ground.  
"Well, I think it's safe to say that we won," Nasuada said, wiping her bloodied sword on one of the warriors and then sheathing it.  
Suddenly, Fírnen's voice filled their heads. _This is not over. And you will not want to fight what is coming._ Arya suddenly gasped and saw what her dragon saw: a massive army of more warriors, goliaths, and knicks.  
She returned to herself and said as her eyes were still readjusting to her surroundings, "Run. We can't take that army."  
Believing her, they all turned and sprinted for the nearest safe haven: a system of caves that led underneath the ground to Ilirea.  
Once there, Roran turned to Nasuada and said, "Are you sure that your magician's managed to get rid of all the traps Galbatorix had in place."  
She grinned and said, "No."  
Roran rolled his eyes and began muttering under his breath.  
"Well, no use staying out here. We need to get to Ilirea to warn them and prepare for battle," Thirday said.  
The rest of the group nodding, they began to file into the tunnel.

Confused? Let me clarify.  
After Arya saw the man who defeated her guard and invaded the mind of her dragon, she realized that it was Thirday. As you the reader might've guessed, he has been supposedly dead for sixty years. Thirday was an assassin for the Varden about half-way through Galbatorix's reign. He met Arya when she was transporting Saphira's egg across Alagaësia. He was currently running for his life after an assassination attempt went awry and his cover was compromised. They decided to travel together until Arya reached the elf land of Du Weldenvarden. Upon reaching the forest, Thirday would turn around and head back to the Beor Mountains where the Varden was in hiding with the dwarves. But upon reaching the elf land of Du Weldenvarden, he decided that he wanted to stay with her, claiming that this was his only chance to see the wonders of the elves with his own eyes. He also wanted a chance to feel the pleasures of an elf. At this time, he was also slightly crazy. Soon enough, he began advancing on Arya, and eventually it led to an attempted rape. To say in the least, it did not end well for him. Arya reacted and the result was Thirday having an elven-made thrust through his chest. He died.  
Or at least, so it seemed.  
Thirday didn't die that die, although he disappeared and never aged for over sixty years.  
Despite the wound to his chest and his pride, Thirday survived and fled. Eventually he healed and managed to find his way to a crazed sorcerer who accidentally gave him something that extended his life another few centuries. After about five years, Thirday realized that he hadn't aged at all. His friends questioned his mortality and that eventually led to Thirday being run out of the Varden, on charges of witchcraft and devilry. He wandered. He wandered far enough that he no longer was in Alagaësia, but farther south than any traveler from his land had gone. He found humans that welcomed him and treated him like a god. He found people who were even more superstitious than his own people. He found wonders and marvels. He found danger. And he found a man who was like him, a mortal given extra time in the world. They began to travel together and eventually they wound up back in Alagaësia. They stayed hidden, underground, avoiding the Varden and the Empire and anyone else who would look to exploit their, shall we say _unique_, abilities. It wasn't until the man died that Thirday realized that there would be people and _things_ looking for them. And someone did find him. But not to use Thirday's talents for his own personal gain, but to stop something from destroying the world in which they both lived in. And ever since that day, Thirday's mission had been to stop the inhabitants of the world before theirs from returning. And so far, that mission was looking like the next thing to impossible.

Anyway, back to Thirday and his allies.

There was something about being in a dark, closed, confined space underground that can just mess with a person's mind. Maybe it was the fact that they were hoping that they wouldn't all die from one of Galbatorix's old traps. Or maybe it was the idea that no one knew what was done here. The earth holds secrets that it doesn't like to give up. They had all learned that lesson, one way or another.  
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Roran whispered through the darkness that was just held off by the light in Arya's palm.  
"Yes, I studied maps and diagrams so I knew a way out if I needed one." She paused for a second. "Or a way back in."  
"Yes, but are you sure that you got all of Galbatorix's traps down here?" Arya whispered. There was also something about being in a dark, closed, confined space that made one want to whisper everything they said, despite the only people who would be able to hear were the ones in a close vicinity to the person speaking.  
"Yes, I am completely sure," Nasuada whispered back, irritation obvious in her voice.  
"I trust in Lady Nightstalker's judgement and ability to navigate these tunnels," Nar Garzhvog whispered as well, although he was crouched almost in half, "But I would not mind getting out into the open air once again."  
_As would I_, Arya thought to herself.  
She cast her thoughts to Fírnen and asked, _Where is the army now?"  
_It took him a moment to answer. _They are reaching the tunnel entrance now. If I were you, I would prepare for an attack. I'll try to hold them off as long as I can.  
Thank you, O Great King of the Winds.  
Hmmm.  
_Arya relayed Fírnen's warning to the rest of the group.  
"Great," Arya heard Orik mutter under his breath, along with several Dwarven curses.  
Almost on cue, Arya heard the sound of feet scraping against the rocky floor of the tunnels and the whisper-like voices of the warriors.  
Everyone else heard it too and Thirday turned to Nasuada and whispered, "How fast can you get us to Ilirea?"  
Nasuada shrugged. "I don't know. I've never had to come down here before. But at least ten minutes to navigate through."  
"Then get ready to fight," he said.  
"Let them taste my axe," Orik said, hefting his weapon.  
"And my hammer," Roran said, holding his shield up and readying his hammer.  
"We need to move on, not fight," Arya said, but the bloodlust was already affecting her body. Her eyes began to widen and take in everything, the way the tunnels were made, the slight shift in the air temperature as the warriors closed the distance between them, her heart began pumping blood and adrenaline their her system, preparing for battle. Natural instincts are very hard to ignore.  
Then Arya noticed something. The air in the tunnels was becoming hard to breathe in. And air suddenly felt like it was in a fire.  
Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. They weren't coming down the tunnels; they were sending flames to them.  
She turned to the others and yelled, "Run!"  
The others didn't hesitate. They too had felt the increase in the air temperature and they too had realized that fire was heading their way. And they all did the natural thing: they turned and ran like the demons of the underworld were heading their way. Which, ironically, in a way, they were. They ran as fast as they could, hoping against hope that Nasuada would navigate them out of the deathtrap they had purposely put themselves in. Turn after turn after turn of endless earthen tunnels, they went through. At one point, it seemed as if they were near the entrance to the tunnel, as Arya saw a ray of sunlight out of the corner of her eye. But that was impossible. If they were near the entrance they would be covered in flames. And so they kept running.  
Finally, Nasuada called for them to stop, which was harder than Arya expected. The adrenaline that was in her body wanted to keep running until she was as far from the danger as physically possible. But eventually, she got her body under control and Nasuada pointed out an abnormality in the rock features: a rectangular shape large enough to be a doorway.  
"Can you open it?" Nar Garzhvog asked in a pained voice. Arya felt a stab of sympathy for him. He was bent over almost in half and had been running away from the flames along with them at the same speed as they. Arya felt his need to get out and stretch his back. She wanted to do the same thing.  
"Actually, I was hoping that Arya could do it," she said sheepishly, "The door seems to be jammed."  
Arya moved forward without a word and pressed her hand to the door, and began muttering a chant in the ancient language under her breath. A second later, the door flew backwards and into the wall on the other side. Inside the opening, was a hallway of grey, dull, stone and dust that extended on in both directions into the darkness.  
"After you," Arya said, motioning for Nasuada to go forwards into the opening. She did so gratefully and one by one, everyone else followed her lead.  
Finally, it was Arya's turn. Just as she walked through the opening, her head began to throb. She grabbed her head in her hands and cried out in pain, folding in on herself.  
The pain felt like someone was splitting her head open with an axe. She heard the blood rushing through her ears, blocking out all sound. Her vision took on a red haze that nearly blot out everything. In her head, she heard a voice. More precisely, Eragon's voice.  
_Arya, listen to me very carefully. I have a limited amount of time. I tried to return to Alagaësia. Our ship crashed on an island that seemed to appear from nowhere. Everyone else on board is dead, and we are__—_. His voice was cut off and as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone.  
Arya looked up and saw the concerned faces of her friends looking down at her.  
"Are you alright, Arya?" Nasuada asked, concern thick in her voice. "What happened?  
Arya got on her feet and shook her head. "I'll explain later. But first we need to warn Ilirea."  
"Can't you send out a message to them or something?" Roran asked.  
Arya was already shaking her head. "No, Nasuada's magicians don't know what my mind feels like. They could dismiss it as a hoax or as an attack. No, we will have to speak to them."  
"Then let's get going," Orik said, "I still want those things to taste my axe."  
Roran nodded. "Aye."  
They started off, Nasuada leading the way.  
While they followed the dark-skinned queen to her people, Arya's thoughts began to wander, something that hadn't happened in a long time. Her thoughts led her to Eragon. Which led to her wondering how he had contacted her across an ocean and nearly three thousand miles of land. Which led to her wondering what her feelings for him were. It was true that she considered him a friend and an ally, but the fact that she knew his true name and he knew hers brought a whole new set of questions. Why? Why did she give her identity to a man, a human man? Why not keep it to herself? And why did she allow him to tell her his? For all he knew, someone could break into her mind and learn it, or she would use it for her own personal reasons.  
The answer was simple, at least to the questions about their true names: they trusted each other and thought of each other as more than just friends, but as soul mates, literally. What that meant to her, Arya didn't know. And what that meant to Eragon, she didn't know either. But they both knew that they wouldn't reveal each other's identities without explicit permission. Arya didn't know if she wanted that kind of trust and reliance put on her shoulders. It had taken her ten years to get that man out of her head. Ten years of strange dreams. Ten years of sorrow about his absence from her life. Ten years of picking up the pieces he had left behind. Ten years of forcing herself, and Fírnen from following him to this new land. When Thirday had appeared, he had given her another purpose, another reason to _do _something that could help the world that didn't require her to speak and make plans and twist her words and plans to benefit the majority of the peoples of Alagaësia. Ten years does a lot to one's mind set.  
"We're here," Nasuada said, interrupting Arya's spiral of thought and forcing _him_ out of her mind.  
Nasuada touched a panel in the wall and a section of the wall slid downward into the floor. It showed an empty room filled with nothing but air and dust. They made their way to the far wall and opened the door in it.  
They emerged in a room full of weapons and armor.  
"So that's where that leads," Nasuada muttered.  
"Well, we made need it," Thirday said, moving past Nasuada and to the door. "We need to warn your commanders."  
As if on cue, alarm bells started ringing.  
"Never mind," he muttered.  
Then the door to the armory opened and several soldiers stood in the doorway, transfixed by what they saw.  
After a moment of silence, one of the soldiers bowed to one knee and said, "Your Majesty, I did not realize you were in here." His eyes glanced upwards at the others. "Or your friends."  
"It is of no consequence, Captain. Carry on, and prepare for battle," Nasuada said, putting on her queen face.  
"Yes, Your Majesty," the Captain said.  
He and the other soldiers moved out of the way and let the group pass.  
Arya felt for Fírnen and immediately was nearly swept off of her feet by a wave of joy and relief.  
_It is alright, Fírnen. We are fine, _she said, trying to calm the dragon down.  
_But for a moment I felt our connection weaken. I thought you were dying,_ he said, seemingly close to tears.  
_I am fine. I just … received a message.  
A message from whom?  
I will tell you later.  
_She followed Nasuada, who had picked up a group of Nighthawks along the way, to her chambers.  
"Jörmundur, get over here. We need to see where this army is!" Nasuada barked.  
There was no answer from Nasuada's right hand man.  
"Jörmundur, where are you?"  
Still no answer.  
Nasuada sighed and muttered, "Fine. He's probably out in the city."  
A maid walked in with a tray of refreshments and kneeled in front Nasuada. "Drinks, Your Majesty?"  
She waved her hand and said, "Not right now, Tabith."  
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Tabith said, still bowed.  
When the maid didn't move from her place on the floor, Nasuada said in a frustrated tone of voice, "You may go now, Tabith."  
"But, my Lady, what if you become thirsty?"  
"I said, not right now! There is an army about to attack Ilirea!" Nasuada said, making the maid flinch. She instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, Tabith. Now go to your family and make sure they're safe."  
Shakily, Tabith nodded and said, "Yes, my Lady. As you wish," and moved off the steps and out the door, still keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room.  
When the maid was out of sight, Nasuada slumped back in her throne and sighed. "I really hate being a leader."  
Arya could only agree. She did not enjoy telling someone what to do, how to do it. People should be able to make their own decisions. But, time and time again, those same people always ended up doing something that harmed someone else and only gave a reason for people to have a ruler. People needed someone bigger than they. It wasn't a judgement of people; it was a fact of life. People needed someone to tell them what to do, to lay down rules, and to make sure they followed them.  
Several armored men entered the doorway and kneeled, paying their respects to their queen.  
"Majesty, there is an army on our doorsteps," one of the men, a young, handsome fellow, by human standards, said.  
Nasuada sighed nearly inaudibly and said, "Rise, and General, what are you doing about it?"  
The man seemed taken aback. "Well, Majesty, we are trying to prevent them from breeching the walls."  
Another man, an older, grizzled man that had obviously seen much conflict in his life, began speaking, almost as if it had been rehearsed. "But this new enemy fights like nothing I have ever seen in my life. They throw themselves at our walls with no heed of their wounds or their losses. The dead pile up at the bottom of the walls. All we have had to do is stay high and pick them off with magic and arrows."  
Nasuada nodded, processing the information.  
"What of their siege weapons? Ladders, towers, catapults?" she asked.  
The grizzled old man shook his head. "They have none of that. But their armor is thick and apparently their heads are thicker. But they have the advantage in numbers. All they have to do is wait until we are out of supplies before attacking."  
"Can you tell what race they are of?" Arya asked.  
They all shook their heads blindly.  
Arya heard Thirday sigh and say, "Then we're fighting blind."

3 MONTHS AGO

Eragon couldn't sleep.  
It wasn't that he was having nightmares of death, destruction, or the loss of loved ones, or premonitions of future death, destruction, or the loss of loved ones, or haunting memories of death, destruction, or the loss of loved ones, it was that he had a fever.  
Granted, it wasn't that serious as he was Dragon Rider, which in of itself made him more hardy than most of his kind, part-elf, and could use magic at will. But he let it sit in him, gathering strength which was taken from him, for two reasons. To prove a point and to make sure that his body could fight off infection of its own, without any magic to stop it.  
_I still see no reason in this_, Saphira said.  
_Well, I still do_, he retorted, laying another wet towel on his forehead.  
_If you die, little one, l will haunt you in the next life, _Saphira said threateningly.  
_Is that even possible?  
_Eragon felt Saphira mentally shrug. _I don't know, but I will make it happen.  
_He forced back a laugh at the last second. _Yes, O Great Queen of the Winds.  
_He stopped. Why did that name seem so familiar? He probed his consciousness, but came with nothing.  
_Eragon? Are you alright?_  
He nodded, both mentally and physically. _Yes, it just … that name seems so _familiar_. I can't place where I have heard it before.  
Well, it will come back to you in time.  
Hmmm. _Eragon mentally shook himself, ridding the problem from his mind for the time being. A knock sounded at his chamber door. Eragon, who may have been the leader of all the Dragon Riders in the world, still was a farmer's boy at heart. He liked things plain and simple. Which was interesting as he decided to fall for one of the most complicated women in Alagaësia. The mind does strange things when it pleases to do so. But his chambers were small, not much bigger than his room in Garrow's. It fitted his weapons, armor, various books that he did not want to place in the already vast library in the hold, a modest cot in one corner, a well-used writing desk and chair against one wall, and a small fireplace. A large window took up most of the wall farthest from the door for use of getting in and out with Saphira and also to be able to have her stick her head inside.  
"Enter," Eragon called, sitting up from his bed and putting the towel on a small table that held a tray of towels, a pitcher of water, and bottle of ale. Why he had ordered that, Eragon had no idea, although the bottle was nearly half-gone.  
A pretty, elven female entered with another tray of towels and a bucket of cold water that she was magically holding up.  
Eragon smiled politely, and said, "Clovia, how nice to see you."  
She placed her hands on her hips and said in her musical, elvish voice, "I do not see the point in this." She was also the most advanced of Eragon's students, which encompassed ten, three elves, four human, two dwarves, and an Urgal, and the most critical of his ways. She also was his second-in-command and oversaw most of the training now with her brown dragon, Levínthir.  
Eragon sighed, inaudible to her ears (it had taken him much practice to be able to do that), and said, "I still do."  
"Hmmm."  
_Why does it seem like I'm talking to Saphira all over again.  
Maybe because I put her up to it in return for teaching Levínthir how to use his mind to stun his prey, _Saphira said.  
"Well, when you decide that you would not like to waste away, come and teach us once more. I am beginning to run out of things to teach," Clovia said.  
It always amazed Eragon how she managed to sound like she was singing and scolding him at the same time. _Mysteries of the elves, _he mused as Clovia walked out of his chambers and closed the door forcefully.  
When Clovia far enough away, Eragon laid back and groaned softly as his head began to pound.  
_This fever, it wasn't caused by normal means, was it? _Saphira asked softly.  
_No.  
Then why do you let it sit in your body, siphoning your strength?  
Because I can't get it out of my body! _Eragon said angrily. Then realizing his outburst, he said in a softer voice, _I'm sorry Saphira, but this fever is affecting me. It takes all my willpower to control myself and sometimes that isn't enough.  
_Saphira was silent a moment before replying, _Well then maybe this fever is a disease native to these lands?  
No. I don't believe it is that. No one else has been affected.  
Then what do you believe it is?  
A sickness of the mind. Or possibly a warning or message.  
A message? A warning or a sickness of the mind is something I could understand, but a message? It seems a strange way to tell you something.  
_Eragon mentally laughed. _Have you not realized that we live in a strange world? I am half elf. There are giant, flying, fire-breathing lizards, one of which is half of my own soul. Some of this world's inhabitants can use magic, which in of itself is a strange thing. We, Saphira, are in a strange place to live.  
_It took her a moment to respond. _You know some of those giant, flying, fire-breathing lizards would roast you for describing them as so.  
_In his head, Eragon nervously chuckled. _Yes, but you wouldn't. Right?  
Right, _Saphira said, a predatory tone still in her voice.  
Eragon wisely decided to not tempt her further and there were several awkward moments of silence.  
Their awkward moments of silence were gladly interrupted by a knock at the door. Even as he politely told the person to come in, he hoped that it wouldn't be Clovia.  
His prayers were answered. This time it was Vanir.  
"Shadeslayer,—" he began.  
"I told you Vanir, the war's over. There is no need to call me that anymore," Eragon interrupted.  
He stopped, and resumed speaking after Eragon was done. "Shadeslayer,"— Eragon rolled his eyes but didn't interrupt again —"Cuaroc is acting up again."  
He sighed. Cuaroc was the metal guardian of the dragon eggs and Eldunarí. He had been created to guard the last remaining eggs and Eldunarí from Galbatorix. If someone tried to steal of harm one of the two, he sprang into action and didn't stop until the would-be thief or murderer was dead. In the past year, Cuaroc had become unreliable. He warded off anyone, save Eragon, Saphira, and Umaroth, that tried to approach the eggs and Eldunarí. Since the metal man was no longer truly alive, reasoning with him was out of the question, as was rewriting his orders, or troubleshooting his enchantments. Silvarí the Enchantress had done a masterful job of creating the body that housed Cuaroc's spirit, as wells as the enchantments that guarded his body from destruction, and his mind from tampering. There was nothing anyone could do about it. There was a reason Silvarí was called the Enchantress.  
Eragon leaned up out of bed, and said, "I'll deal with it."  
He swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up. And then his legs immediately buckled out from underneath him and Eragon grabbed the side of his head as it tried to split itself apart with pain.  
A voice that seemed to scream even though Eragon felt it was barely speaking in a whisper, said, _Slayer of Galbatorix, beware. Heed these words wisely. Your life and the life of those are in your heart are in danger. They require your assistance. Hurry. _ And then the voice and the pain were gone.  
A haze seemed to clog Eragon's mind and vision. He felt a dull throb around his knees and felt something soft on his face. He smiled and said in a dazed voice, "Strange world," then passed out.

He came too lying in a bed that wasn't his. He could tell by the sheets. They weren't as rough as the ones on his bed. Like I said, once a farmer, always a farmer.  
Eragon opened his eyes and saw something glittering. He reached up for it, but the glittering moved just outside of his reach. Eragon's arms fell limply by his sides and he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Once he could clearly see once again, he looked up and saw Saphira's glittering head above his, the dragon looking at him with her head turned with one eye. Next to his bed was Vanir and Clovia, worried expressions on their faces.  
_Hello, little one. How are you? _Saphira said.  
He mentally shrugged. _I have been better. What happened?  
You got out of bed to deal with Cuaroc and then you grabbed your head. Then you just fainted. Vanir called for help and I got there as soon as I could. They were taking you down to the infirmary. You've been unconscious for a couple of hours.  
_"Shadeslayer, can you tell us what happened to you?" Vanir asked him.  
Eragon rolled his eyes and sighed before saying, "I don't know. But I heard a voice inside my head and it told me that my family in Alagaësia needed my help."  
"Do you know who told you this?" Clovia asked.  
Eragon shook his head. "Is Cuaroc still acting up?" he asked Vanir.  
The elf nodded.  
"Good. That gives me something to do." Eragon pulled off the covers of his bed and swung his legs over the side. But before he could get up, he grabbed his head again as it once again tried to split itself apart. But instead of hearing a voice speak to him, he saw far worse than words could describe.  
_A field of red expanded as far as he could see. Forms, grotesquely twisted like a diseased tree, rose up from the red, holding weapons that dripped dark, nearly black, red. Blood. He saw a city, once proud and firm, crumbling to the ground. People ran from one dark corner to another, trying to hide from the red warriors. He saw a small group of people crowded together, holding off the tide of red warriors. One such person wielded a long, green blade, the person's tunic and armor tainted red. Another was wielding a hammer and shield, also tainted red. And the others, a dark-skinned woman; a short, bearded man; a tall, wild looking man; a huge, hulking figure; and a tall, but not as tall as the wild looking man, white haired man. Above them, huge flying forms flew over the red warriors, breathing red and green upon them. It seemed as if they were effectively holding off the tide of red warriors.  
And then it all fell apart. First, the flying forms fell, red rushing from wounds Eragon could not make out. Then, one by one, the group fell, red also rushing from wounds, until finally. There was only two left. The person with the green blade, and the white haired man. Then person with the green blade fell, leaving the white haired man the last one standing. And then he fell.  
"This is the future I foresee if you do not return to your homeland," a voice, the same one as before, except this time he was not screaming.  
"How can you know this? The future is not easy to predict and neither is it set in stone," Eragon said, looking around amid the field of red for the voice.  
A cloaked man appeared before him. "There is much you do not know, Shadeslayer. Time is like a river. I just need to know the lay of the land to predict the path it will take."  
"But how can this happen? I know of no stories or myths or legends that speak of such a calamity."  
"Because those stories and myths and legends were all erased from the world, in an effort to hide the truth and in an effort to stop this calamity."  
Eragon was silent for a moment, trying to process this sudden information.  
Finally, he came up with a question. "Why now?"  
"Because of the fall of Galbatorix. He chained enough power to himself that he attracted the attention of certain beings. Beings that inhabited the world before the humans and the elves and the dwarves. They saw his fall as an opportunity to try to break the bonds that held them in their world. Bonds that Galbatorix had weakened in his quest for power. They succeeded."  
Eragon was silent. Wishing that this was nothing but a dream, an extremely real figment of his overactive imagination. But deep down, he knew that this man was telling the truth.  
"What is it you want me to do?" he asked.  
"Return to Alagaësia. Force back the creatures into their holes. Fix what Galbatorix broke."  
"But I can't return to Alagaësia. The prophecy says __—"  
"The prophecy that the witch Angela made is not a part of this. You are free to do whatever it is you want to do. Nothing can keep you from that."  
Before Eragon could answer the vision faded into black, leaving him alone with his thoughts.  
Little one! Are you alright?_ Well, that and Saphira.  
Eragon nodded. _Yes. And I think we need to return to Alagaësia."  
But Angela's prophecy —  
Is not a part of this anymore, Saphira. Watch, _and Eragon shared the memory of the vision and his conversation with the man.  
When it was over, she stuttered, _H-h-how is th-that p-possible? _Then she mentally moaned, _Fírnen! We must go back.  
_All Eragon could do was nod, and say, _We must._

**Sup peeps.  
Now tell me honestly and sincerely. How good of a writer am I? I mean, I wrote over 5500 words, all for you. So, humor me a little people. Anyway read and review (I like these).**


	3. Chapter 3

The Breaking of a Prophecy

2 MONTHS AGO

"Is the ship ready for launch?" asked an irritated and impatient Eragon.  
"Just about, Shadeslayer," Vanir said, walking up to Eragon where he was standing overlooking the harbor and the ship that would take him back to Alagaësia.  
"Good. The sooner we can get to Alagaësia, the better," he said.  
A thought crossed Vanir's conscious and before he could stop himself, he asked, "If I may ask, why are you going back to Alagaësia? I mean, how can you be sure of the authenticity of this man who just invaded your mind and showed visions of death and destruction?"  
Eragon, who was already on edge from the prospect of seeing his friends and family once more, nearly exploded. But he managed to reel in his anger, and said in a calm and carefully controlled voice, "Because he knows of the prophecy. Few people knew of my prophecy that Angela foretold. And that man was not one of them. And before you ask, that is one part of my mind that I do not yield to others, save Saphira."  
Vanir nodded, and said, "As you say, Shadeslayer."  
Eragon rolled his eyes again and muttered under his breath quietly enough that Vanir would not hear (also a skill that took him several months of practice to perfect). Even though Vanir did not hear Eragon mutter under his breath, he knew that the Dragon Rider was irritated with him, and wisely decided to not ask him anymore pointless questions.  
"When will you leave?" Vanir asked after he thought it safe enough for him to ask.  
Eragon turned to the elf and said, "As soon as I can."  
They both fell silent. The silence quickly turned uncomfortable and each thought of ways to get out of it discreetly.  
"Eragon!" a voice called, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  
He sighed in relief, not bothering to hide it from Vanir, and turned to face the caller.  
It was Clovia, and from what Vanir could tell, she was mad. The two Dragon Riders exchanged words and eventually, Clovia nodded and walked off, a slight skip in her step. Eragon returned to his spot next to Vanir, starring at the ship.  
"What did you tell her?" Vanir asked, suddenly intrigued. "I have never seen her with a skip in her step."  
Eragon grinned like a little boy telling a forbidden secret. "She is to take over teaching the other Riders."  
"But her teachings are not completed!" Vanir protested.  
"She is capable enough to improvise and continue what I taught her and her alone. She is smart and a capable teacher."  
Vanir nodded, feeling the explanation acceptable despite feeling a twinge of skepticism.  
After a short silence, Vanir asked, "Is your fever any better?"  
Eragon nodded. "Yes, yes. Actually it's gone, now. Disappeared about a week ago."  
"Oh. Good," Vanir said.  
They both fell silent and soon enough their silence turned uncomfortable.  
It was Vanir who broke first. "I need to … go … check … something," he said, motioning behind him and turning away.  
Eragon nodded, but kept staring at the ship.  
He had been thinking of names. Since the last ship he had ridden on had been an elven name, he had decided to christen it with a human name, as he was returning to human lands. Well, lands with mostly humans in them. He had several ideas: the _Returner_, the _Voyager_, the _Agora_, _Carvahall_, and the _Dauntless_, among others. None seemed to fit.  
Saphira swooped down out of a cloud above him; the wispy, white, cotton-like substance that it looked like to Eragon blew apart and dissipated in the wind and from the force of Saphira's wings beating to keep her aloft. She landed next to him, making the ground tremble as she fell heavily onto the ground. Saphira looked at Eragon through one eye then shook her body like a dog, spraying him with water droplets from the cloud she had just destroyed, making him jump back and shriek at the sudden cold. Despite what they looked like, cloud water was _cold_.  
_Thank you for that_, Eragon said, as he wiped water from his eyes. He muttered a spell under his breath and the water on his body and clothes floated up and formed a ball of water, which he promptly dropped to the ground. Getting revenge on Saphira was generally not a good idea, as they were connected by a mental bond and she could usually see what he was about to do. And her form of payback was painful and made Eragon wish he hadn't done anything to begin with.  
Saphira made one of her dragon smiles and said, _My pleasure.  
Well, you're sure in a fine mood_, said Eragon, smiling both mentally and physically. When his dragon was happy, he was happy and vice versa. Of course, that wasn't the best of things at certain times.  
_What? I am going to see my mate for the first time in ten years, Eragon. I have a right to be excited. And speaking of seeing Fírnen, I had expected you to be more excited about seeing a certain elf again. Shouldn't you be jumping for joy or be completely nervous?  
_Eragon groaned and said, _I was trying to not think about it. Thanks.  
You're welcome.  
_They stayed silent for several moments, watching the work being done on the ship that still did not have a name. The sun beat down on the two, and evaporating the water on Saphira's scales and making her glitter and shine. She was like a beacon on the hill; people could probably see her shine and glitter from quite a ways off.  
Finally, a workman walked up the hill to where Saphira and Eragon stood. He bowed respectfully, but kept his eye on Saphira. Neither Eragon nor Saphira criticized; it was only natural to be wary of something you didn't know much about. Neither of them could say that they hadn't been cautious of something new and different than what they already knew. Of course, neither of them would say it out loud...  
"Yes?" Eragon asked.  
The man kept his head down and said quickly, "Sir, your ship is ready. When will you leave?"  
Eragon gave the same answer he gave Vanir. "As soon as I can."  
The man bowed again and said, "As you wish, sir."  
Eragon and Saphira moved past the man and down the hill. The man followed as soon as Saphira was a few yards in front of him.  
_Are you sure about this? _Saphira asked him, concern in her voice.  
_Yes_, was his reply.  
Saphira didn't reply but he could tell she was worried about going back. And underneath that was a tantalizing layer of excitement and nervousness. He could imagine what thoughts were going through her head. _Will Fírnen still want to be with me? I hope that nothing bad has happened to him. I hope he will be glad to see me. He will, won't he? _As well as more thoughts along those lines that the author does not have enough time to write every one down. That's why there are these wonderful things called editing and proofreading.  
Anyway, moving on.  
Eragon and Saphira walked down to the ship, ignoring staring workmen and a couple of blushing young women that Eragon didn't even know where in the new land he had found to train Dragon Riders. In fact, where had all these workmen come from? Ah, well, that was something he couldn't worry about right now. He was about to go face creatures he had never seen or heard of. No pressure.

The next day they, meaning Eragon, Saphira, and a handful of crew members, were all ready to depart from the land of … Eragon still hadn't named the land yet as he couldn't think of a name that felt right for the place. But for the sake of the readers, I, the author, shall give this land a name. And I name it … America. No, not really. I name it Dalïena. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds cool.  
Moving on.  
The ship, which Eragon had finally christened _Homecomer_, was ready, as was the crew and passengers, Eragon and Saphira. Before leaving, Eragon had tasked Vanir and Blödhgarm with helping Clovia teach and protecting the eggs and Eldunarí.  
They cast off in the early hours of the day, seeking to make significant headway into the sea. The entire crossing took about a month. Eragon planned to cut that by at least a week.  
They exited the bay, and, due to thankfully generous winds blowing in the right direction, they passed the First Marker within the first day. The next two days passed by uneventfully, nothing but wind and water to accompany _Homecomer.  
_On the fifth day, a storm hit.  
It very literally appeared out of nowhere. It crashed down upon the unsuspecting ship like, well, a storm. _Homecomer_ was pushed and pulled violently around and through the white-capped waves and the churning waters like rag doll in a child's hands. Indeed, that was what it seemed like to Eragon at times, like they were just the playthings of a child shaking its toy.  
On the eighth day, the storm passed. Eragon and Saphira emerged from the lower decks, blinking in the bright sunlight. Saphira was especially happy; after being forced to lay crouched in an awkward position for the majority of three days, being able to move and stretch her muscles once more felt like a blessing. And consequently, Eragon felt elated the rest of the day.  
But not all was well. The storm had thrown them off course several dozen nautical leagues, which would add to three days worth of extra sailing to compensate.  
This angered Eragon. He wanted to return to Alagaësia as quickly as possible. But, being a lowly human-elf hybrid who can't really do anything … oh wait, he's a freaking Dragon Rider with access to all magic, so why the hell should he not be able to control the winds or teleport him and Saphira to Alagaësia. Well, the answer to that question is quite simple. It would kill him. And Eragon knew that. While he did have an enormous amount of strength, magically wise, he was still only mortal. Sort of. Anyway, he couldn't do anything about.  
On the tenth day, they passed the Second Marker, three days off schedule. They were now officially out in the open sea. Now, theoretically, as long as they maintained a straight due exactly west, they would reach Alagaësia in another two weeks or so. But this being a story in which the slightly crazy author has control over, he is not going to be that nice.  
So, on the twelfth day, once again, disaster struck. They passed a small island that Eragon didn't remember passing on the way to Dalïena. And it seems that this island has a range of coral mountains extending from island and the bottom of the ocean to just under the surface of the water. And being that the sun was glinting in such a way that the lookout man couldn't see the mountains. So, consequently, they ran into one of these mountains and busted a hole in the hull of _Homecomer.  
_A tremor ran through the ship, shaking Eragon from his dreams. He groaned and looked around, wondering what was going on. He heard feet scraping over the deck outside and heard voices yelling to each other. Eragon got out of bed and scramble to put on some clothes. Once that was done, he opened the door to his cabin and got out. What he saw didn't exactly make sense. The crew of _Homecomer_ was running around, scrambling to get something done. He stopped one of the crew, a young boy barely old enough to be considered a man named Releigh or something like that, and asked, "What is going on?"  
"We've busted a hole in the hull, sir. We're sinking," the boy said.  
Eragon let go of him and he scrambled off to stop the ship from sinking.  
Eragon heard a roar and knew that Saphira was awake. The great, blue dragon crawled out of her cabin and took flight, the crew of _Homecomer_ ducking to avoid her wings and claws and the force of the wind from her pushing off the deck of the ship. She flew around the ship once and said to Eragon, _What is going on?  
_Homecomer _has a hole in the hull. We're sinking.  
Well, fix it! You know magic!  
_Eragon mentally smacked himself. Why didn't he think of that?  
He followed one of the crew members down into the lower decks of the ship. He passed dark, dirty hammocks hanging and swinging with the motion of the ship. There were several crates of food piled up in the corners, tied to the floor with thick, rough rope. Small lanterns and lit the way down into the bowels of _Homecomer_.  
Finally, Eragon found himself in a pool of steadily rising water with several other crewmembers trying to plug the hole with anything they had: shirts, pants, buckets, even their bodies. But the water kept coming into the ship.  
Eragon pushed his way through the throng of deckhands and crewmembers and said, "Move! Let me!"  
He dropped to his knees and felt around with his hands for the hole. It didn't take long. The bust in the hull was enormous, nearly five feet wide. He placed his hands on the top and bottom of the hole and began chanting in the ancient language. Several of the men moved back a couple feet from where Eragon knelt, chanting words they couldn't understand. Despite having been around magic or most of the last ten years, they were still apprehensive and uncertain about something that they couldn't touch, or control. So, the natural human instinct was to back up and hope that nothing went boom.  
Unfortunately, Eragon was not that lucky.  
As he approached the end of his chanting, a tremor went through the ship, followed closely by a groan. The crewmembers crowded in the cargo hold all looked up and started muttering about what the noise was. Then a loud crack went through the air, followed by Eragon flying backwards into the crewmembers with his clothes smoking and steaming despite the damp conditions surrounding them.  
He fell heavily, clearly dazed and confused. Several thoughts were going through his head. A few were about if the ship could still float, a few more were about if he was alright, but most of them were about why the magic backfired.  
"Shadeslayer, are you alright," several of the crewmembers asked him, as they pulled him back from the now even-wider hole that was gushing water into the ship, slowly dragging it down into the watery depths of the sea.  
He shook his head and muttered weakly, "I'm alright, I'm fine."  
Eragon pushed himself up and to his feet, wobbling slightly, due both from the shaking of the ship and the shaking of his body. What in the name of whatever God or Gods that inhabited the heavens above had happened?  
_Eragon, are you alright? I lost you for a few seconds, _Eragon heard Saphira call to him in his mind.  
_Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine. My magic . . . backfired_, he said, uncertain of what happened.  
Saphira sent a wave of confusion which momentarily left Eragon dumb and unresponsive. He shook it off and made his way up to the deck to see if there was anything up there he could do to help.  
Eragon appeared on the deck, blinking in the sudden brightness. Sometimes having sensitive ears and ears could be extremely annoying, as he found out shortly after his transformation. He looked around and headed towards the ship's steering man. He was focused intently on a grayish, hazy blob out on the horizon. Eragon peered at the blob and suddenly he realized that it was an island. And that they were on a crash-course towards it.  
A place to safely patch up the ship and resupply, for their food and water storages were bound to be contaminated by the seawater pouring into the ship. Eragon gathered his strength, both mental and physical, and began chanting in the ancient language a spell that _should _create a powerful gust of wind that would help _Homecomer_ on its relatively short journey to the grayish, hazy blob of an island.  
_Homecomer _lurched with increased speed as Eragon's wind spell was brought to life.  
Eragon himself gasped and fell to one knee, both from the lurch in the ship and from the fact that he could hardly stand up straight. His vision had begun to spin and his stomach felt like it hadn't tasted a morsel of food in a month.  
_Eragon! _Saphira cried, rushing towards him and sending strength into his limbs but losing a little of what she had.  
On the deck, leaning against the railing, Eragon gasped and sighed with relief as his body found newfound energy to resume its functions.  
Gasping for breath and even sounding short-winded in his head, Eragon muttered, _Thank you, O Great Queen of the Winds.  
_If dragons could smile as humans do, then Saphira would have had a grin stretching from ear to ear in relief. But since Saphira was undoubtedly _not _human, she had to settle for roaring and sending out a torrent of blue flames from the pit of her stomach. Suffice to say, Eragon got the message.  
"My Lord," the steering man said suddenly, breaking Eragon out of his tiredness, "Brace yourself."  
Before Eragon could ask what he meant, _Homecomer _and her crew lurched violently and a terrible grinding noise followed by the sound of cracking wood echoed through the air.  
They had landed on the island.  
Saphira flew low over the water and landed difficultly on the rocky ground on which the ship had run itself into.  
Eragon groaned slightly as he picked himself up from where he had fallen. Looking out, he saw the rest of the crew gingerly picking themselves up and muttering amongst themselves. Looking out farther, Eragon saw tall, wild trees of vivid colors and size and species. He saw a large mountain peaking up out of the trees deep inland of the island. The beach they had landed on didn't he deserve the name _beach. _It was very literally just rocks and the odd green weed poking up between them. Eragon carefully walked down the steps to the deck and leaned out over the railing.  
The ship's hull was severely in need of repair. The entire bottom of it had been broken in, exposing the innards of _Homecomer_. It had run itself aground and even with the combined strength of all the men, Eragon, and Saphira, it would be a chore to get it sea-worthy once more.  
The captain, Feldka was his name, leaned over as well next to Eragon and cursed heavily in both the human language and the dwarven one. Eragon even thought that he heard a little bit of the ancient language mixed in as well. He raised his eyebrows at the curses but said nothing to stop him. The man deserved to curse, he thought.  
"Shadeslayer, this ship will never float again," Feldka said, "I'm sorry."  
Eragon looked at the man, trying to believe that he was playing some kind of sick joke on him.  
He laughed and said, "No really, how long will it take to make repairs?"  
Feldka eyed him like he was a lunatic (which could very well be true) and said, sorrow thick in his voice, "_Homecomer _didn't make it. I'm sorry, I truly am, but we are stuck here until someone else comes for us or we manage to build something to get us out of here."  
That brought up another question. Where was here?  
Eragon asked the captain if he knew this island. Feldka shook his head, no. "I have been traveling back and forth between Alagaësia and Dalïena for the last six years and I have never once seen this island. And I have been blown off course more than once."  
"Then where did it come from?" Eragon said, quietly so no one could hear him.  
Feldka turned to his crew and bellowed loudly, "Crew! Disembark! _Homecomer _is finished! It looks like we'll be stuck here for a while, so get used to it." With that, he walked to his cabin and opened the door, vanishing inside. The crew turned to Eragon, who just stood there, partly dumbfounded and partly because he didn't have the energy to want to move anywhere else.  
Eventually, though, the crewmembers turned away and began gathering possessions and supplies. One by one, they went off the ship, each one with a saddened expression on their faces.  
Finally, it was just Eragon and Feldka.  
They stood together, looking out at the island that seemed to appear to them. Eragon nodded to Feldka and walked off _Homecomer_, letting his hand brush against the varnished wood off her railing. He walked off the makeshift plank and onto the rocky ground.  
Eragon turned and saw Feldka, with an almost pained look on his hard features, look around his ship before finally walking down the plank and onto the ground next to Eragon.  
Softly, so only Eragon could here, Feldka said, "I've had six ships in my life. One would have thought that I'd be used to this by now, but every time I have had to abandon ship it's like I'm being stabbed."  
The seaman turned away and Eragon thought he saw the glittering of tears in his eyes.

**Hello again. I know this is shorter than the previous chapter, but I didn't want to continue Arya's story too much and I couldn't tease anything else out of this chapter to extend it. Besides, the abandonment of **_**Homecomer **_**seemed like an excellent place to end the chapter. It was tense and emotional and it raised up some questions which I'm sure many of you will already be pondering. But don't worry, all of those questions will be answered. At least the ones relating to this story will be. Anyway, read and review.**

**Oh and sorry about taking so long in writing this chapter, but I had two different band camps to go to two weeks in a row, I was on vacation for another week after that, and then I was playing with my bands at my city street festival, so I had a lot going on. I hope that those are good enough excuses for you. I will try to update sooner next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just to let you the readers know, I will be dropping references here and there throughout the story. For the first person to correctly identify the reference, I will give them a sneak peak at the plot of the story. The references will range from music to TV shows to books. It could be anything, so watch out. So I can PM you the sneak peak, you need to have an account here on . Good luck.  
**_**(Hint: The first reference has something to do with Eragon and where he is.)**_

Chapter 3: A Sense of Wrong

ONE MONTH AGO

Eragon ran as fast as he could through the thick, tropical plant life of the island. His prey snorted in fear and ran faster, dodging in between the thick trees and plants with ease. Eragon, with a thick, stone-tipped spear in hand, poured on speed and chased the boar through the trees and plants. Finally, the chase entered a wide, grassy, open plain, where Eragon stopped. He angled the spear and threw it with all his might towards the boar.  
A loud and sudden squeal erupted through the air and Eragon winced at it. He was by no means a vegetarian, but that didn't mean he had to like the killing of animals for food. But seeing as there were no other options, save a few mushrooms that wouldn't kill them, Eragon and the surviving crewmembers of _Homecomer_ had to rely on what they could catch and kill for food. In fact, this was the biggest boar they had managed to kill. Eragon jogged to the pinned boar. His spear had run through the boar's lower back and into the ground beneath it. Dark red blood was pooling around the thing's body. Eragon crouched next to the animal, muttering a thanks for its meat and its spirit to fuel the men in the ancient language. Then he rammed his knife into its heart.  
Slowly, Eragon gutted and skinned it, throwing the excess meat and muscle and organs off to the side, making a bloody pile that almost immediately began to stink. When he was done, he hoisted the boar onto his shoulders and began the long walk back to camp.  
Eragon had quickly learned that he could not rely on magic here. Nine times out of ten, the words of power he uttered had no effect, and the one time out of ten it did work, the magic didn't do what it was supposed to. He had accidentally caused the deaths of three crewmembers by testing the magic. He hadn't drawn on more since.  
Eragon wove through the thick trees and the large plants slowly, held down by both the boar and the grief he had about the deaths he had caused. Of the original twenty member crew, not including Feldka, Eragon, and Saphira, twelve were still alive. Three Eragon had killed, one had drowned (ironic, if anyone was to ask), two had eaten poisonous plants, and two had just disappeared without a trace. All searches for them ended with no reward, save a hunger in their stomachs and disappointment in their hearts. Saphira had taken it upon herself to scout the island. It wasn't large, about five miles at its widest. The majority was taken up by the tropical jungle forests and the single mountain at the island's center. From what she could see, there were no other signs of people on the island. Eragon and Feldka had named it Lone Peak, as there were no other mountains as far as the eye could see.  
Eragon stepped through the last of the foliage and entered the camp. It was small and modest, made of mostly parts of the sail of _Homecomer _and sticks found in the forest propping the pieces up. At the north edge of the camp, a large, crushed and flattened part of the ground marked where Saphira rested.  
Eragon walked to the center of the camp and dropped the boar on the ground in front of a large fire pit. The ashes from yesterday's fire were still warm.  
The island's jungle forest created a muggy heat which cooled off enough during the night that a fire was needed to keep warm. But there was another reason for the fire. Ever since the two crewmembers disappeared, the others had been more and more wary and cautious of the jungle during the night. Eragon could understand their fear. The night was a time of shadows and dangers lurked in those shadows. He had been more than once wary of going into the darkness. Memories of dark tunnels and inhuman warriors that refused to die. He remembered the death of one of his trusted companions and bodyguards. He remembered the aftermath, drinking with another of his trusted companions and then losing another to a former companion.  
He shook his head and forced the memories out of his mind, turning his thoughts to more enjoyable memories. He remembered his childhood in Carvahall, planting and harvesting the food they would eat, running and playing with Roran before he became infuriated with Katrina, hunting up in the Spine. He remembered his time with Oromis and Glaedr learning the ways of the Riders, the Blood-Oath Celebration, the learning of his father's identity. Good memories.  
"Shadeslayer!" a growling voice called. Feldka.  
Eragon turned to face the grizzled seaman and grinned. "I hope I did not disappoint you."  
Feldka wasn't looking at him, but at the massive boar now laying on its side in the dirt. "You killed that? With no magic?" he asked incredulously.  
Eragon's grin widened and he nodded. "With only my spear and my guts and not an ounce of magical energies, I tell you."  
Feldka nodded, his expression still in awe of the boar. "This will feed the men for the next ten days, at least. More if we ration it."  
Eragon nodded and the seaman knelt, and wrapped his thick arms around the boar, hoisting it onto his shoulders. Feldka, while not as strong or as young as Eragon, was still a man to be reckoned with. From what he could gather from the men, Feldka had spent most of his youth as a pirate, attacking Galbatorix's barges and ships, stealing what they needed, destroying the rest. Since the king's death, he had pledged his loyalty to Nasuada and founded a well-off business in shipping goods back and forth between Alagaësia and Dalïena, as well as various sea ports of the dwarves and the elves. Feldka was a man Eragon would gladly have at his back in a battle.  
The grizzled old seaman trudged away, burdened by the weighty pig, to Tephil, the cook. Tephil was a large, beefy man, twice as thick as Eragon but at least a head shorter. Large, thick mustaches covered his upper lip and a long scar from eye to chin spoke of a harsh life in a harsh city. Arms as thick as Eragon's legs gave the man a dangerous look and the visible corded muscle underneath his skin made most who didn't know the man think he was preparing to jump you. But underneath the hard, muscled exterior was a man who enjoyed a good drink, a good meal, and a good woman. Eragon also had suspicions that he cheated at cards but didn't approach him. He had commanded enough men in the Varden and didn't want to earn a grudge from the man.  
Eragon walked back over to the depression that marked Saphira's resting ground and settled down comfortably against a tree to await her arrival.  
He didn't have to wait long, for not ten minutes later, the sound of beating wings echoes throughout the camp. Few of the men looked up to watch the great blue dragon fall to the ground with a small thud. They had been in awe and fear of Saphira for the first couple of weeks before finally getting used to her presence.  
_How did it go? _Eragon asked, standing up from his seat on the ground.  
_Nothing but trees and a few birds, _she said, her great, barbed tongue slithering over her jaws. _Tasty birds._  
Then, a more serious tone taking her voice, Saphira told him, _But there is something . . . _wrong _with this island. I feel as if it should not be.  
_Eragon found himself agreeing with her words. It was true; there seemed something undeniably wrong with the island, like it had just forced itself into the world, where there was no place for it. Eragon suddenly found himself hoping fervently that they would leave the island soon. But something also told him that he didn't come here by accident. Garrow had once told him that if something looked liked it was by complete and utter chance, it wasn't. Eragon had believed him then, and he believed him now. Something _had _drawn him to this island, a thing that shouldn't exist. But what was the question. And why. Eragon had been played before, used as a pawn in a chess match for the fate of the world. But this felt different. Like whoever, or whatever was pulling the strings was making it up as it went along.  
All he knew was that something was going to happen.

PRESENT DAY (ONE WEEK SINCE ARYA RECEIVED MESSAGE FROM ERAGON)

Something was happening. Exactly what, Arya couldn't tell, but something was happening. She was sure of it.  
Outside the walls of the city of Ilirea was camped a large army of . . . _things_. No one knew what they were, but they had been there for the last week and had not attacked since the initial assault on the walls. Nasuada had her scholars searching through the vast library of Galbatorix's books and scrolls and his notes even, looking for some kind of clue to what the creatures were, what they wanted (although Arya and Nasuada had some very reasonable guesses as to that particular question), and, most importantly, how to defeat them. So far, the best any of them had was a short paragraph in one of the stories of Lindel and Hannik, fabled bards of old. The paragraph went:

_ On the eve of the Night, camped outside the ruins of the city Baelin, the Travelers saw them. Foul and ugly, emitting an aura of pure evil and hatred. Gredel, who watched the creatures with nary a quiver in his body, could feel the impurity of the creatures, the awful _wrongness _of them that made him want to retch upon the stones. In his mind's eye, he knew now why the Old Man had warned him to stay away from the ruins of Baelin, for the creatures' very presence seemed to eat away at his own soul, rip and tear him down to the bone, leaving a withered corpse. But he stood tall, like a torch in a cavern of darkness. He stood on the edge of the firelight, and there he stood unto the Sun rose, and banished the Night back into his holes and his earth. And with Night, the creatures vanished, as well, leaving naught a trace, save an air of evil and a want to be as far from the place as possible._

To Arya, it seemed that Lindel and Hannik over exaggerated the creatures. To her, they did not seem to wear against her soul and flesh. But, she did feel the aura of evil and hatred and undeniable _wrongness_ that those creatures weren't of this earth and had no place here. And it did not tell her anything useful about them. The story spoke of the creatures once and never again. And Arya knew for certain, for she had read the entire story several times, trying to glean some hidden messages in its pages. Gredel would go on to defeat the sorcerer and win back the beautiful woman of his heart, Milan, destroying the sorcerer's keep and supposedly creating what was now known today as the Teirm Bay. She had even cross-referenced the paragraph with other stories of Lindel and Hannik's, but had come up with nothing. Arya had sent word to the scholars in Ellesméra to see if they could find anything about the creatures. All they had come up with so far was the location of the city of Baelin, where Gredel had supposedly stood against the creatures all night, unwavering in his courage and his purity of heart. Bards also seemed to have a conspiracy to greatly exaggerate everything about the heroes and heroines and greatly under exaggerate the other characters who if they had not been there, then the hero would not have succeeded.  
Arya shook her head and promptly pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. New ones took their place. These started with a memory: the voice in her head that claimed to be Eragon and that he was trapped on an island with no way out. He had tried to return to Alagaësia, so he said. Why? And why did he not contact her to tell her? They two shared a bond that few could claim to have. They each literally owned the other's soul. If something were to happen to him . . . .  
Arya forced those thoughts aside as well and shuddered. It would not do for her to think of thoughts such as these when there was an enemy army camped on their front door.  
A knock came from her door.  
A wry smile played across her lips. Now that was ironic.  
"Come in," she called.  
A man dressed smartly in steward's clothes entered and said politely, "Queen Nasuada requests your presence. She has told me to tell you that there is someone to see you."  
Arya nodded to the man and told him, "Lead on."  
The steward bowed respectfully and backed out the door, turning down the hallway to the throne room. Arya followed a moment later, her sword resting comfortably on her hip. They wound their way through the hallways until Arya and the steward came to a pair of great wooden doors. The steward opened one and bowed to Arya, who slipped through and into the room beyond.  
This sight before her nearly made her fall to the ground in shock, although she had enough of a mind to keep her mouth from dropping to the floor.  
Murtagh, the infamous Red Rider, Galbatorix's enslaved right hand man and the man who had captured Nasuada and helped hold her captive for Galbatorix. The great red dragon Thorn was crouched on the balcony outside specially made to support a dragon. His hair had grown longer and a large fur cloak adorned his shoulders. Zar'roc was strapped to his waist and a large longbow peaked over his shoulder. And, to top the picture off, a neatly trimmed beard covered the bottom half of his jaw as well as his upper lip.  
Arya looked past Murtagh and saw Nasuada, who was trying hard to not expose any emotion regarding his arrival and . . . well, him, as well as Orik, Roran, and Nar Garzhvog. _Humans_, Arya thought, making it sound like a curse in her head.  
Aloud, she said, "What are you doing here?"  
Murtagh grinned and said, "Thirday. Sent out for me and finally found me up in the northern mountains." His grin widened. "Among the company of one Lady Katrina."  
Roran visibly tensed and his hand wound itself around the handle of his hammer.  
"Murtagh!" Nasuada called out, silencing him, "I did not let you in here to taunt my friends and allies. Now speak what you are doing here and why I shouldn't have you killed right now."  
Thorn growled at that, a low, rumbling noise that vibrated through the air.  
_I wouldn't do that if I were you, _another male voice rumbled. Fírnen. Arya almost sighed in relief. The green dragon had flown up to the balcony and settle down on his haunches on top of the throne room.  
_Try me, Greenscales, _Thorn growled.  
_"Enough!" _Arya yelled, both with her mind and her voice. "We came here to talk, not to fight." She turned to Thorn and Murtagh. "So talk."  
He gave a wolfish grin that any human woman would have blushed at and began to speak.  
"Thorn and I have been traveling. We stayed in the north, further than Carvahall for a couple years before finally growing bored and tired of the place. So we decided to explore the world. South of the Beor Mountains we went and we found things that you could not have dreamed of. Cities that sparkled like the scales of a dragon, gemstones that size your head, "he said, indicating Nar Garzhvog, who muttered lightly, "I have trouble believing that."  
Murtagh waved off the remark and continued on with his story.  
"Cities and jewels and people and customs by the like I have never seen. And this is far south of the Beor Mountains, several hundred leagues south, separated by a small ocean. And you will not believe it. There were dragons. But not like Thorn or Fírnen. These were dragons that would fight among humans and against their own kind. There seemed to be a divide between the dragons. There were the colored dragons that would terrorize mankind and then there were the metallic dragons that would help mankind. It was in a city that roughly translates into this tongue as 'Hundred Years' that we met a man. He read the stars to tell our fortune." Everyone in the room scoffed at that, but hardly caused Murtagh to pause. "The man told us that we were to become kings, though we were to be forced into it and not take it willingly. He also spoke of a man who held the heart of a woman beyond beauty in his hand and that I would have to save him, kill him, or die. In each telling, the world was at stake and in each telling, a different fate happened, though which went with which, neither he nor I knew. The world would be saved, be enslaved, or be destroyed.  
"So, I came back here, after six years of exploring this new world, I returned to find you at war with an enemy you know nothing about and your darling savior"—he looked at Arya while he spoke—"on the other side of an ocean and in no way to help you."  
He went down to one knee in front of Nasuada who was staring at him incredulously, probably thinking he was preparing to propose to her, and said, "So, will you accept my help or not?" He turned to Roran and said, "By the way, I was just trying to ruffle you up a bit when I said I was at your family's home." If it was at all possible, Roran's grip on his hammer tightened even more.  
Nasuada, who was fidgeting in her throne, didn't know what to say. Either that, or she was about to say something very witty.  
A few more seconds passed.  
Nope, Nasuada didn't know what to say.  
After about a minute, Murtagh stood on both feet and said, "Alright. But remember, this is a one-time offer. I will not come back here and beg you to accept my help."  
He turned to the balcony where Thorn was crouching.  
"Wait!" Nasuada called, making Murtagh pause in mid-step and turn to face her.  
She hung her head as if ashamed and said quietly, "I accept your offer of aid. Quarters will be set up for you and Thorn."  
Murtagh smiled and bowed politely to Nasuada. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He straightened and turned towards Thorn once more. This time, no one told him to stop. He mounted Thorn and the red dragon lifted off the balcony and flew out over the city.  
Once he was out of sight, Nasuada dropped her head into her hands and groaned. "I don't know which will end up being worse. Trusting him or letting that army stay on our doorstep.  
"The army," Orik said promptly.  
Nasuada looked up and asked, "Why?"  
"There're lots of them but only one of him."  
Nasuada smiled at that, and nodded in agreement. "Yes. That is true."  
Arya walked up to Nasuada and spoke quietly, so that no one but they two could hear her words, "Are you sure you are alright about Murtagh being here?"  
Nasuada looked at Arya sharply and said quietly, "Absolutely not. But I don't exactly have a choice, now do I? There's an enemy army camped out nearly on top of us, no way to get food or supplies through to us, and we only have two Riders available at the moment."  
Arya could feel that she missed Eragon dearly, but she found herself nodding in agreement with Nasuada's words. "The last time I spoke with Eragon, he said that the first of the new Riders would be here within two years."  
"How long ago was that?" Nasuada asked, perking up a little.  
"Three years ago."  
Her expression sunk at that.  
"But in the last couple of years, more and more ships have gone missing and have not turned up. And communicating across the sea has become more and more taxing."  
Arya paused for a breath before continuing. "There is something _wrong _with the world. Even more so than when Galbatorix had power. It is like a curtain has fallen with his death and now whatever he had kept blocked from the world has emerged."  
Nasuada nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if Galbatorix made deals and alliances with creatures not of this earth, though how, eludes me."  
"And none of my searches about these creatures have turned up anything useful. I have all the scholars at my disposal researching this, but nothing."  
"So, we're fighting blind," Nasuada said, hanging her head.  
"Arya, if you ever get a chance to get out of leadership, take it."  
Arya nodded.  
"Let's just hope that we'll come up with something soon and that it will be useful in figuring out how to destroy these creatures without sacrificing all my soldiers."

ONE WEEK AGO

The boar ran and the Rider followed.  
Granted, they both ran away from something, too. Above the boar and the Rider, flew a great blue dragon and behind them ran another man, breath coming in short gasps as he wove his way through the trees.  
Suddenly, the boar disappeared. Eragon and Feldka stopped, leaning against the nearby trees to catch their breath.  
_Is it still following us, Saphira? _Eragon asked the great blue dragon flying above the two men's heads.  
She wheeled around in midair and flew low over the treetops, scanning the ground below for any sign of the creature.  
_I do not see it, but that doesn't mean it is not there. Be wary_, she told Eragon.  
_I always am_, he replied back, breathless even in his thoughts.  
"Shadeslayer," Feldka said, breathing heavily, "I do not know how much farther I can run."  
Also breathing heavily, Eragon replied, "As far as I can go, captain."  
Feldka didn't reply.  
A loud and sudden crash startled them both and drew their attentions to the right, the direction they had come from. Another crash sounded, closer this time and a long moan echoed through the jungle.  
_I believe it is coming towards you_, Saphira said from above.  
_Thank you for stating the obvious_, Eragon replied. He pressed his hands to Feldka's chest and drew energy from within himself to the other man. Immediately, he perked up and began to breathe easier.  
"My thanks, Shadeslayer," Feldka said, laying a hand on Eragon's shoulder.  
"Thank me later," Eragon said, shrugging off the hand, "Now, we run."  
And run they did. Weaving through thick-trunked trees and large bushes, they ran, trying to make some distance between them and the creature hunting them.  
Eventually, the crashes stopped, as did the moans and the two slowed, breathing even harder.  
Eragon looked around and found him and Feldka to be in a small clearing. Above them, Saphira circled a couple times, before dropping to the ground with a thud.  
_I do not smell or sense the creature anywhere_, Saphira said, turning her snout towards Eragon. He laid a hand on it and rubbed his hand in small circles, drawing a satisfied growl from the recesses of Saphira's throat.  
_And I hope that it does not sense us, either. I don't know how much longer we can keep running.  
_Saphira let out a louder growl. _If only I could get my claws in it, then it would not seem so mighty.  
I would advise against that_, Eragon said, _Remember Tephil.  
_She growled. Saphira remembered the demise of the cook.

It had been a hot day. The boar Eragon had caught was now long gone and other sailors were out in search of another source of food to feed them. Tephil was preparing what little they had left into a stew for the night.  
It had been then that the moans started, followed closely by crashes. A large boar, tusks raised in fear and a wild, dangerous look in its eyes ran through the camp, away from the noises. Eragon looked up in surprise at the animal. Then Saphira's voice filled his head.  
_Eragon! Run!  
What? _he asked, looking around.  
_Run! _she said again.  
At that moment, the _thing _crashed through the trees and into the camp.  
Eragon, though he knew he was staring right at it, could not seem to make out what it was. It was like someone had drawn a picture with charcoal and then smudged it. He could still make out the gist of it, but the details were lost to his eyes.  
It was tall, nearly as tall as some of the larger trees in the jungle. It was big, nearly as wide as Saphira. And without a doubt, it was dangerous. Long, smudged lines extending from where Eragon assumed its head was marked horns. A thick arm reached out and more smudged lines, these shorter though, marked claws. The arm grabbed a man standing in front of it, frozen on the spot. As the creature picked him up, though, the man started screaming and thrashing about. He pulled out a dagger and stabbed it into the creature's arm. Thick, dark liquid poured from where the dagger had scored a hit, but the creature seemed unconcerned. It lifted the man closer to its mouth and tossed him in as a man would a chunk of bread.  
The man's screaming stopped.  
Something in Eragon snapped and he yelled in defiance of the thing, drawing Brisingr. But before he could even take one step, a roar came from above that Eragon knew could only come from a dragon followed closely by blue flames.  
The dragon fire engulfed the creature and Saphira pulled out of her dive. A scream erupted from the thing and Eragon was forced to cover his ears, lest he be deafened.  
When the flames cleared, everyone expected the creature to be gone with only ashes to mark it had existed. But instead, the smudged out thing stood contently, as if there was nothing in the world to bother it.  
Everyone in the camp stared in shock at the creature. Logic and common sense told them that the creature should be somewhere in the next life but reality showed them that the creature had stood up against a dragon's fire and won. A scream erupted from one of the men and he dashed forward. Tephil. He held a large meat cleaver in one hand and a thick club in the other. The meat cleaver struck first, drawing more of the dark liquid, and the club followed, smashing into where Eragon assumed the knee would be. A loud cracking sound echoed through the camp and for a moment, the creature seemed stunned. But then Tephil screamed in pain as some of the dark liquid dripped onto his hands. They turned into grey dust and slowly his arms followed. Tephil stepped back from the creature and into a pool of the liquid. He collapsed onto his knees as if feet were eaten away, disintegrating before their very eyes. Slowly, the rot reached his head and then Tephil was gone, leaving nothing but ashes.  
Eragon very slowly, put Brisingr back into its scabbard and walked backwards towards the safety of the jungle.  
A scream erupted from the creature and it lashed out with smudged arms snatching two sailors.  
Eragon felt Feldka run past him and into the forest at his back. Taking the man's good advice, he too, turned tail and ran for his life. Behind him, he heard the screams and sudden silences of dying men.

**So, what'cha think? Me, personally, I think it's great. And by the end of this, I am ready to pass out. So. Yeah. If you didn't read the A/N at the top, here's another one down at the bottom. I will be handing out sneak peeks to those who correctly guess the reference hidden in the chapters first. Normally, there will only be one, but something there may be two or three. Rules: must have an account on so I can PM you the sneak peek and you must correctly guess the reference first. Second place gets nothing. So good luck. Oh, also, I will be cutting you off if you reach three in a row. Won't be fair to everyone else if you get all the sneak peeks. So, read, review, guess the reference and for the love of GOD, do not tell anyone else if you get the sneak peek. I will be very pissed off if everyone knows what is going to happen with this story. So, be nice. Do not spoil.**

**On another note. I am now on . I have posted a story there entitled **_**Men with Names. **_**It is a fantasy crime drama. Which makes it cool, because I have never read a fantasy novel that takes place in modern times. All the ones I have read have taken place in medieval times with swords and horses and cool powers. The story takes place around a detective of the Andlin City Police, Mandis Delcour. He is the best detective they got. He is called in to investigate the mysterious death of an upper-class woman. Soon, after he is nearly killed in an explosion, he begins to uncover a strange underworld of superstition, Magiks, and stories of demons and angels of old. To find out more, read the story on . It is under the Fantasy genre which is under Fiction. It is rated T (Teen), but I might change that rating later to M depending on how graphic I decide to get. Enjoy both **_**Men with Names **_**and **_**Once More, For the Last Time**_**! **


End file.
